


Celebrations

by Elendiliel



Series: A Medic's Guide to the Galaxy [4]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ajan Kloss, Celebrations, Gen, Planet Yavin 4 (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: The anniversary of the battle of Endor is always a good excuse for a party, especially in the Resistance. Some of its newest members aren't quite sure what all the fuss is about, but their friends intend to change that. Whether they like it or not.
Series: A Medic's Guide to the Galaxy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954132





	Celebrations

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sanctuary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006582) by [CaptainXcamino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainXcamino/pseuds/CaptainXcamino). 



> Rather than try to work out precisely where in the normal SW calendar these events occur, I've taken the liberty of inventing a new one. Hopefully it's sufficiently self-explanatory. In storyline terms, Part 1 is some time after The Last Jedi and Chapter 2 of Unlikely Friends, Unseen Enemies, and Part 2 is set a couple of weeks after the end of the latter story.

**Part 1: Ajan Kloss, 31 AE (After Endor)**

“What’s going on?”

Rey addressed the question to nobody in particular. Around her, the Resistance’s main base was undergoing a transformation. Space was being cleared, decorations were being hung and what looked like a sound system was being installed. The word “party” suggested itself to her. She understood the concept, although they hadn’t hitherto featured much in her life.

Nobody in particular turned out to be Elinor, youngest of the Resistance medical corps, Leia’s part-time other apprentice and already like an older sister to Rey. Not much older. She looked different, too, somehow, but it took Rey a moment to notice the thin braids running from her temples to the back of her head.

“Liberation night, of course! It’s the thirty-first anniversary of the Battle of Endor. Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t celebrated it before?” Rey hadn’t. Jakku wasn’t a place for celebrations, or even calendars. “You’ve got a treat ahead of you, then! Come on. I’ve got a spare dress you can borrow, if you want.”

Not taking no for an answer, she steered Rey towards the nurses’ quarters at the back of med-bay. Once there, she fished around in the pack that contained everything she’d brought from her old life, finding right at the bottom a bundle of blue cloth that unrolled to reveal a few small boxes and bottles, a cosmetics bag, a pair of – to Rey – impractical shoes, and (the bulk of the bundle) two dresses. Ignoring everything else for the time being, Elinor spread the dresses out for inspection. Both were a shade of blue that Rey knew instinctively would suit her perfectly. Growing up on colour-starved Jakku, she’d always liked blue and green. One was long and mostly plain, with gold at the neck and the ends of the ribbons that formed the belt and shoulder straps, a deep V-neck and a split skirt. The other, slightly shorter, had wider shoulders, panels of darker blue running up the sides and a more fitted look to it. “I wondered why I’d brought both of these. The Force thinks of everything, I suppose. Which one would you like?”

Wordlessly, Rey picked up the second dress. Elinor was a bit taller than her, and she didn’t want to be tripping over all night – or like the look of that neckline. “Good choice. This one’s almost too long for me. I keep meaning to take it up, but somehow it’s always at the bottom of the list.” She indicated a small ‘fresher cubicle. “Go on, try it on.”

It fitted perfectly. The two girls had roughly the same build, and the two-inch height difference just meant that the hem was a bit further down her calves than it probably was on Elinor. The rest of it might have been made to measure. She didn’t remember ever wearing anything so beautiful before.

By the time she finished admiring herself and came out, Elinor was wrestling the last straps of her dress into place. “Wretched things! There, that should do. Oh, don’t you look lovely!” Elinor didn’t look so bad herself. The hem did indeed fall past her ankles, but on her the split skirt and plunging neckline managed to stay respectably short of revealing, and the combination of blue and gold brought out the red in her now-loose hair. Almost absently, she reached up to check that the clips holding the ornamental braids in place were still where they should be. “I think Kaydel ought to do your hair; she’s much better at it. What’s your opinion on makeup?”

Rey was adept at mascara and eyeliner, but was persuaded to add some blue eyeshadow, while Elinor went for gold. She noticed Elinor’s clear unfamiliarity with liquid eyeliner, and guessed that makeup was still to some extent a dark art to her friend. “Can I help you with that?”

Gratefully, Elinor surrendered the eyeliner to her and stood absolutely still, eyes lightly shut. Rey was halfway through the second eye when the now-familiar absence of sound told her she was no longer entirely in real space.

The voice behind her shouldn’t have caused her to jump and drop the eyeliner (it appeared to vanish; at some level she speculated that Elinor had caught it), but when Kylo Ren asked, “Where are you?” that was exactly what she did.

Heart pounding, she turned around. She could never really see Ren’s surroundings, and hoped he couldn’t see hers, but he was seated, and thankfully fully clothed this time. Something in his posture told her that he’d been deep in thought, and alone. So alone. Always alone.

Whatever he’d been going to say, when he saw her it was replaced by, “You look beautiful.” Neither of them quite seemed to know how to follow that, and the awkward silence filled the virtual space between them until, to Rey’s relief, an almost-as-familiar voice asking what in blazes was going on broke the spell.

Rey turned back to Elinor, whose face was etched with concern and streaked with eyeliner. As they repaired the damage and carried on, she explained as much as she understood of the strange connection she and Ren seemed to share. Elinor took this, like everything, in her stride.

“The Force has a reason for everything, although sometimes it’s a flipping peculiar one to us. Tonight isn’t the time for worrying. It’s the time for eating, drinking and above all dancing. Worrying can wait.”

“I don’t know how to dance.” That felt like a pretty minor admission, after what had just happened.

“You’ll pick it up. This kind is a lot like fighting, but without weapons and you’re not supposed to hurt anyone. Now for the finishing touch…” She had opened one of the little black boxes and taken something small out of it. Before Rey could protest, she had fastened a fine gold chain around her neck, from which hung a single white pearl on a gold stem. She _definitely_ hadn’t worn anything this lovely before.

“I can’t accept this.”

“Please, just for tonight. It needs wearing, and I can’t exactly pair a necklace with this dress. Honestly, it’s fine.” Another box had turned out to hold a pair of pearl earrings, dark blue and teardrop shaped, which Elinor was threading through her own ears. Rey saw her point and no future in arguing further. There was one final hurdle to negotiate in that Elinor only had one pair of smart shoes, but Rey’s boots looked fine with her dress and enough confidence. At last they were ready to step out into the base, where Poe and Finn were waiting for them.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Elinor?”, was Poe’s first response when he’d recovered enough to speak. Rey and Finn exchanged glances. Everyone knew the pilot and the nurse were an item, but while they thought they were keeping it quiet, nobody was going to mention it.

“You look great, too,” Finn whispered to Rey, as their friends tried not to look like a couple and failed. “Thanks. So do you,” she responded. He did. Poe’s idea of a party outfit was surprisingly smart, especially with Finn inside it. Rose was going to be a very lucky woman when one of them finally made a move.

Speaking of Rose, she was headed towards them, looking stunning in red and accompanied by Kaydel Connix and Wrobie Tyce. Clearly they had planned this; Rey surrendered to having her hair styled by Kaydel and watched her best friend chatting to the newly promoted commander, wishing he’d pluck up the courage to ask the girl out. How could someone so brave and smart be so thick when it came to such things? Come to think of it, that applied to both of them, although Rey suspected that when they actually got together Rose would be the one to take the initiative.

That was for the future, though. As Elinor had said, that night all that mattered was the present. Rey allowed her friends to tow her towards the dancefloor and prepared to enjoy herself.

**Part 2: Yavin IV, 32 AE**

Did the woman ever sleep? However early Armitage got to work, and he was no layabout, Elinor was already up and about, sparring, practising at the target range or getting a head start on the day’s tasks. That morning, she was taking inventory of a large shipment that definitely hadn’t been there the day before. He’d learned not to ask where the Resistance’s supplies came from. He wasn’t sure which was worse, no answers or the wrong ones. Some of the crates were marked Takodana, a name which seemed vaguely familiar.

“Morning!” His best friend turned towards him. “Data entry today, I’m afraid. Meds or booze?” Elinor could never find a compromise between too few words and too many.

“Good morning to you too. What do you mean?”

“The medical supplies and happy juice for tonight arrived at the same time. Typical. Which one would you rather catalogue? Meds are more interesting; booze is easier.”

“Meds, please.” _Happy juice_ and _booze_ implied alcohol, which had never had pleasant associations for him. She handed him a datapad and pointed him towards the relevant crates. The markings were quite an assortment, but he recognised some as belonging to known fronts for smuggling. _Definitely_ not asking about that. Something she’d said did need further investigation. “Tonight?”

“Oh, of course, the First Order doesn’t really celebrate Liberation, does it? The battle of Endor was thirty-two standard years ago today. We mark it with as good a party as we can. You’re in for a treat. Nearly as much fun as the Festival of Light back home – to which I’m determined to take you as soon as possible.”

As they worked, she explained about the Festival of Light, which commemorated Naboo joining the Republic, the legendary (to students) end-of-year celebrations at Coruscant University, and the Resistance’s own festival traditions, including – because this _was_ an army – security precautions. He had never seen the point of such events, but clearly they mattered to her. During a lull in the wordstorm, he managed to ask, “Is that why you’ve done your hair differently?”

She reached up to touch one of the braids that ran from forehead to bun. “Yes. I’ll let the rest down after work, but these are fiddly and easier to do while my hair’s damp. Everything else can wait.” She saw his expression, and sensed his alarm at the implications of the word “party” and this burst of unaccustomed elegance on her part. “I’m sure the guys will have planned something special for you.” (So was he. That was the problem.) “You should have seen Finn last year – and presumably tonight will be just as good. I like to think I didn’t do too bad a job on Rey, either, although she’s gorgeous to begin with. You should be used to that by now. We always have each other’s backs, in or out of combat. _Allora_ , how are you getting on with that little lot?”

The shipment of medical supplies had been ordered a couple of weeks before, after her near-fatal asthma attack. Poe had been furious that one of his friends had almost died because, as it turned out, she’d been reducing the dose of her medication to make it last longer. He’d authorised a full restock, with Finn’s approval, and tasked General Calrissian – himself an ex-smuggler – with obtaining it under budget and quality checked. (He had to be used to that by now; Armitage suspected that Calrissian and Elinor had a private arrangement regarding such useful luxuries as tea, high-quality caf, sweets and more unusual items like bookbinding supplies.) Its arrival now presumably meant that the general would be there in person at this event, along with the former stormtrooper he’d effectively adopted. Despite Finn’s enthusiastic welcome, Armitage was not looking forward to that particular meeting.

He put the thought out of his mind. As Dameron would say, he’d make that jump when he came to it. A similar line of enquiry had formed itself into a question. “Why is the alcohol _here_?”

A sly grin. “Because this area is going to be both first-aid station and bar. Same arrangement as last year, except that Maz has gone home to Takodana, so I’m running it alone. Unless you’d like to help?”

It was a casual question, and he knew that she wouldn’t blame him if he refused. She didn’t know _why_ the idea of making drinks for people unsettled him, but surely she could pick up the fact that it did. All the same, to quote Commander Tico, it was best just to get back on the fathier, so to speak. And this meant that he might not have to dance, although his leg and chest had responded well to improved treatment. “Yes, I’d like that.”

With a flash of her “brilliant!” smile, she returned to her work. Lunch came and went in a flurry of conversations about clothes, hairstyles, jewellery, long-distance scans and perimeter guard rotas. At last, earlier than usual and just as preparations for the party were starting in earnest, Elinor called a halt and they headed off to get changed.

At least none of his immediate circle – the male contingent of which consisted of Dameron, FN-2187 and Solo – could dictate his sartorial choices. In one of the crates he’d unpacked he had found a parcel from his mother - what Elinor called a _care package_ \- which contained, as well as a selection of Arkanis delicacies (including the sweets he remembered so fondly) and his torn and stained old uniform, a set of clothing rather more apt for the occasion than anything that lot would select. There had also been a letter, assuring him that he was always in her heart (she really did put it like that) and asking him to contact her as soon as he safely could. Calrissian must have stopped off on Arkanis on his way here. Armitage didn’t know which of his friends had put him up to that, and had no intention of asking.

Suitably attired, although he hadn’t managed to dissuade Dameron from restyling his hair, he rejoined Elinor at the temporary bar. At least, he assumed it was Elinor. He’d never seen her in a dress before, let alone makeup and expensive-looking jewellery. From eyes to hem, she was a symphony in blue – blue eyeshadow, blue pearl earrings, mid-calf blue dress with darker blue panels sweeping up the sides. It suited her, as did the dress’s blend of practicality and elegance. Looking around, he saw that the female section of the crowd was similarly clad. He was sure he’d seen the long blue ballgown Rey – her unborn daughter’s existence now impossible to conceal – was wearing being altered by Elinor some time previously. It had paid off; she looked _stunning_. (That was to say, even more stunning than usual.) So did Rose Tico, in a delicate pink creation that made her resemble her namesake. Armitage’s eyes, however, sought out Poe Dameron, better dressed than he had ever seen him, and stayed there.

He mentally shook himself and prepared for the evening’s duties. There was a steady stream of patrons at the makeshift bar, never too many and none already drunk. They might be letting their hair down, as El would say, but not their guard. Armitage had forgotten about their extra guests until a pair of dark eyes locked with his and a voice said, “Nobody told me _you_ were going to be here, General.”

“What can I do you for, _Jannah_?” Elinor had begun to master the bartender’s art of breaking up awkward situations before punches flew and things got broken. The emphasis on the young woman’s chosen name was to remind her that if TZ-1719 could become Jannah Calrissian, the Starkiller could become just Armitage. It worked.

The ex-stormtrooper asked for a cocktail that sounded potentially lethal. Elinor clearly agreed. “What do you want to sterilise with _that_? I’ve got plenty of disinfectant here.”

“I’ve had it before. Lando recommended it.”

“I bet he did. Now I know whom to yell at if you need treatment for ethanol poisoning.” Shaking her head, Elinor began to fill the order as Armitage handed her the ingredients. “There you go. And if I see you here again tonight, it had better be just for a chat or a soft drink.”

Well, that could have gone worse. Armitage was beginning to relax when an extra guest he hadn’t expected appeared in front of him and demanded, “Who the blazes are you?”

“Armitage Hux. Pleased to meet you.” That slid out on autopilot. Unfortunately.

“And what’s someone like _you_ doing _here_?” This was bad. He was used to hostility from some of the Resistance, but word had got around that anyone disrespecting the man who made Exegol possible would pay for it, either through the shift rota or at their next physical exam. (That suited him. Immediate, unthinking vengeance had never held much appeal.) This woman, however, was clearly not mainstream Resistance. He wished he was carrying his knife, or any other weapon.

Once again, the bartender’s instinct his bondmate was honing came to his aid. “Same as the rest of us. The best we can. Hello, Zorii. Lovely to see you again. What are _you_ doing here, if it comes to that?”

“The space trash invited me.” To Armitage’s surprise, she seemed to mean Dameron. Elinor signalled _Don’t ask_ across their bond. “Thought it might be fun. Can you see Babu anywhere? Oh well, he’ll turn up. Can’t seem to shake him off. And that wasn’t a proper answer.”

Nothing for it. “I’ve… parted ways with the Order. Dameron asked me for help “running a tight ship”, as he put it.”

That seemed to amuse her. “Stars know he needs it. Still amazed he ended up running this place.”

Elinor cut in before anything else could go wrong – like Armitage avenging that insult. “What would you like to drink?” As Zorii placed her order, she transmitted _Never fails_ – or at least, that was the nearest translation from their private language, which was pure Emotion.

“Who’s she?”, Armitage asked as he watched the woman walk away, drink in hand.

“Zorii Bliss. Old friend of Poe’s. Further than that, I wouldn’t care to speculate. But she’s good fun, in the right mood. Left Kijimi at the very last minute and fought at Exegol.” That explained her attitude. Kijimi was space dust, wiped out by Pryde just for sheltering a few rebels for a matter of hours. In her place, he might have felt the same. Come to think of it, when it came to Arkanis he _did_ feel much the same.

That reminded him of something surprising he’d seen on the way back into base. Just off the main area set aside for the party, visible but not physically intrusive, had been a number of lighted candles, each marked with a name, between two bowls of slow-burning, sweet-smelling oil, one circular, one hexagonal. Dameron had challenged him to guess what they meant. He hadn’t been able to work it out until he saw, on the tallest candle, the name _Princess Leia Skywalker Organa Solo_. They were temporary monuments to the fallen, keeping their memories fresh and present. The circular bowl stood for all of Kijimi; the hexagonal one represented the First Order personnel who had lost their lives in the previous year, lives no less valuable because they were on the other side. Ridiculously sentimental, of course, but somehow appealing.

The trickle of customers had dried up, and he knew Elinor was dying to be on the dancefloor. “Go on. I can manage.”

“You’re sure?”

He knew she didn’t mean to be offensive. To her, it was a natural question. “It looks as though everyone’s had enough apart from the next shift of perimeter guards, and I can handle that many. Your senses will tell you if anyone gets hurt. I know you’d have been out there hours ago if you could.”

“Thanks a lot.” She smiled, drained her one drink of the evening (a nut liqueur in fruit juice; not her usual, but this _was_ a celebration) and darted around their table towards the crowd, fluidly shifting from running to dancing without any discernible boundary. Armitage watched her, a ribbon of blue and copper in the multicoloured multitude, until she was out of his sight and a mess of dark curls caught his attention once more.

He dealt with the last shift change before the end of the night – set of changes, rather; the Resistance wasn’t stupid enough to change all of the guards at once – and started looking for his friends again. He failed to notice the conspirators until a mismatched pair of hands, one tanned, one pale, slipped into his, intent on getting him onto the dancefloor. Surrendering to the inevitable and the music, surrounded by friends he never thought he would have, he realised why people bothered with events like this. Life, love, liberty: these things were important, and worth celebrating.


End file.
